


between love, between hate

by sultrygoblin



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sultrygoblin/pseuds/sultrygoblin
Summary: one shot - request - loving after hate, is loving someone after they’ve shown yout he worst of themselves
Relationships: Aldo Raine/Original Female Character(s), Aldo Raine/Reader
Kudos: 25





	between love, between hate

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this scratches ya’lls itch. it’s not the longest but it’s definitely one of my better ones i think. also i’m still getting used to writing aldo. he’s a complicated man  
> "the two of you are patching each other up after a mission and maybe things get a bit heated" "I’d be glad to hear the love/hate story that Aldo might have with a pretty but very annoying Private under his command ! You know ennemies to lovers sort of thing with so much fluff I’ll forget I’m stuck home sorta thing "

You were stubborn, hard-headed, annoying and absolutely beautiful. If you weren’t one of the best damn privates he’d had in more than a few years, he would’ve shipped your right back home. Women had their place in a war, he wouldn’t deny that. The factory, reconnaissance, anywhere but neck-deep in Nazi’s in fuck nowhere France. But you managed to sneak your way into the mission, all boys until they’d stepped off in Europe with no one to talk to the locals. You’d been outed by a local farmer they’d sent you to ask directions from, thinking at first a young boy in ill-fitting clothes would be no more suspicious here than anywhere else in the world. Didn’t have to speak a lot of French to know mademoiselle meant one thing; nothing swinging down below. He’d chewed you out for hours, you’d spent the entire time trying to interrupt him, explain himself, at one point even got in his face shouting how dare he pretend to have any idea why you were here or what you were doing. A begrudging respect grew there, and whether he liked to admit it or not, there were certain advantages to be had when there was a member of the fairer sex around.

This moment was one of them, your bedside manner could use some work but your hands were gentler, you manage tight, even stitches that heal quickly with minimum scarring. Not that he cared about something like that, but it was definitely a bonus. You could use whatever ones he was willing to give you.

“Stop fidgeting,” you ordered, lightly hitting the back of his head with the back of your hand, “I’ll end up hurting more than helping if you keep it up.”

“Stop hittin’ me then,” he shot back, yanking a familiar silver tin from his pocket, “Ain’t you ever nice?” pinching a bit of the powdered tobacco between his fingertips and inhaling it deeply.

“I’d be nice in anyone ever gave me a reason too,” you grumbled, tying off the last stitch and moving on to covering it with homemade antiseptic, then patching up the rest of him.

He stings when the balm hits his skin, “Dammit,” shaking his head, “What’d you mean by that, little miss? I give you plenty of opportunities to be nice.”

You scoffed, “That is a lie. You’ve been riding me like a plow horse since the second you found out. If it isn’t this thing, it’s the other,” wiping more across the already cleaned wounds of his back and shoulders, “You know you’ve never said thank you once.”

“I’ve said thank you!” offended at the accusation only to realize he couldn’t conjure up a time it’d come from his lips, “I’m sure I have.”

You step around him, dipping your hands into the bowl of water that had to be at least a quarter Aldo’s blood at this point, “You haven’t even said thank you for this,” working the tacky stuff from your fingers before wiping your hands on your trousers, “You don’t have to like me but at least you could treat me like you do all the others.”

Maybe you were right. You weren’t anymore annoying than Donny, any more hard-headed than Stiglitz, any more stubborn than himself. You are obviously more beautiful than all of them, there was no question about that. Maybe he had to hate you.

“You’re right, that ain’t fair of me,” watching your step back around him to check the balm, “Thank you for patching me up. For patching all of us up. We’d be ‘bout as useless as a padre in a whorehouse without you.”

You laughed, and he knew that feeling, “That is one way to do that. But, I appreciate it,” it must be still tacky because he could feel your blow along the wound.

Only this time it gave him goosebumps and he knew exactly why he had to hate you, “I’ll try being nicer.”

“I appreciate it,” tapping at the balm again before declaring it dry and promptly leaving the tent.

If he didn’t hate you, he’d like you too much.

{}

Aldo would never admit he took that bullet for you or to be trapped alone with you again, but he had. Only this time you aren’t sarcastic, you’re quiet, and you refuse to make eye contact. When you’re done, you drop the pot of salve in his lap before turning on your feet and storming out. There hasn’t ever been something you didn’t want to throw your two cents in the ring about. You’d had the chance to call him an idiot for not paying attention, but it just seemed like you were mad at him. Somehow you knew it hadn’t been a complete accident. Someone was going to take it but there was a reason he’d jumped in front of that gun. He’d gone soft on you. He should’ve known it would’ve happened.

If he wasn’t busy hating you, he was going to be too busy loving you. And if that was going to be the case he might as well man up, tell you’re the truth, and take the verbal lashing he more than deserves. That still ain’t treating you like one of the others, but he’s never going to be able to do that. And you just needed to get your pretty little self over that, put on your big girl panties, and try to make out of this alive so they could see if this thing could last. It’s all planned out, it’s on his tongue, almost out when he storms into your tent and it dies in his throat.

“No, no, you ain’t gonna cry over me,” it hurts to kneel in front of you, straining the stitches on his torso, but he’ll live, he’s had worse.

You wiped your eyes, “I was mad,” trying to batter them down, “I am mad but I’m crying and,” you shake your head, “I hate being a girl.”

“That’s got nothing to do with being a girl. Probably be doing something similar if the shoe was on the other foot. Which it woulda been,” grabbing your by the back of the neck, pressing their foreheads against each, “There was no way outta this one, little miss,” he’s serious and you had to know that, “I ain’t regret what I did, I’d do it again in a second.”

“You hate me,” you said suddenly, he couldn’t help the smile curling his face.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” running his thumb along the curve of your cheek, “’Bout as much as you hate me. Don’t think that’s too far away from love though, darling.”

“That’s fucked up.”

“Ain’t it just?”


End file.
